


On a mission to make something happen

by shinykari (meinterrupted)



Series: pass the ammunition [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Identity Porn, M/M, Matt's poor decision making skills are rubbing off, One Night Stands, PWP, Pre-Season/Series 02
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-20
Updated: 2016-04-20
Packaged: 2018-06-03 10:26:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6607342
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meinterrupted/pseuds/shinykari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Right before the events of season two happen, Foggy has a one night stand with some hot guy in Hell's Kitchen. It's fun, a little scary and Foggy fondly remembers the night as the time he got with a guy who was out of his league.</p><p>It's only much later that he realizes the guy was Frank Castle AKA The Punisher.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On a mission to make something happen

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [a prompt on daredevilkink](http://daredevilkink.dreamwidth.org/7552.html?thread=14398080#cmt14398080). A million thanks to fruitgoat for looking it over; any remaining mistakes are mine.
> 
> Title from Dixie Chicks' "Sin Wagon."
> 
> Dedicated to the Daredevil FFA nonnies who built and launched this crackship I'm now sailing. It's all your fault.

"I had a great time tonight." Bethany hugged him tightly, angling her hips carefully away from Foggy's in a way that couldn't be unintentional. She smiled brightly and kissed his cheek. "I'll call you."

"Okay," Foggy said, smiling back because he's not an asshole, and he did have fun. "Have a good night." He waited on the sidewalk until she stepped inside the building, then shoved his hands in his pockets and started walking. 

His feet hurt, his calves were starting to burn, and the mix of dance sweat and the night's humidity had wreaked havoc on his hair. Still, his blood pumped hot and heavy through his veins, worked up from dancing and too many nights with only his right hand for company. Between working long hours at the firm and dealing (poorly, he admitted to himself) with his best friend beating up criminals for fun, Foggy hadn't been laid in months, not since he and Marci hooked up just before everything went to shit with Fisk. They'd tried to make it work, but then she'd been hired on to HC&B, and making partner was more important to her than dating. Foggy didn't blame her for that, since he hadn't tried all that hard either, too wrapped up in Matt's shit and their own clients. Bethany's flirting over the counter at Starbucks had been more innuendo than innocent, and when she'd suggested the club for tonight, Foggy had let himself get his hopes up.

"Fuck," he muttered to himself as a buzzing neon sign caught his eye. He was only a few blocks from his apartment, could be home and jerking off to the image of Bethany dancing in her sparkly miniskirt in less than fifteen minutes, but the idea made him feel a little dirty. She wasn't interested, and he wasn't a creep. Maybe he'd run into someone in this dive bar to go home with; weirder things had happened. If not, the internet would be waiting for him when he got home.

The air conditioning was going full blast, pushing out air only marginally cooler than the summer heat outside. At the opposite end of the long bar, several older men crowded around the single pool table, bickering good-naturedly over pitchers of beer. The woman behind the bar could have been Josie's sister, except for her brown skin and black hair; she had the same crow's feet, fashion sense, and "don't fuck with me" attitude. The only other patron was a man with close-cropped dark hair, wearing a black military-style jacket that was far too heavy for the current heatwave. Foggy eyed him warily, but the man didn't look up from where he was staring into his liquor, so he took the barstool one seat over, pulled out a ten dollar bill, and smiled at the bartender. "Miller Lite, please."

The woman didn't acknowledge Foggy's request in any way other than to crack open the requested bottle. She took his cash without a word, and walked off to make change, leaving him alone with the other man, whose "fuck off" vibe was so large it could probably be seen from space. There was something oddly familiar about him, though, something that kept drawing Foggy's attention. It wasn't his looks, though Foggy was the first to admit he was handsome in a rough sort of way, with a strong jaw covered with stubble and a nose that had obviously been broken at least once. It wasn't even the way he was dressed, incongruous as it was. No, it was the way he held himself, an easy confidence that screamed he could kick someone's ass without breaking a sweat, all while hunched over his drink like he was trying to stay invisible.

It reminded him, Foggy realized with a start, of Matt.

Foggy quickly finished his beer and set the empty bottle down loudly on the bar. He was just about to leave when the man spoke. "You gonna stare at me all night or you gonna do something about it?"

Foggy blinked, taken aback. "What?"

The man huffed out a laugh. "You heard me," he said, tilting his head so he could meet Foggy's gaze. His tongue darted out to wet his lips before he finished his drink with one long gulp, and Foggy couldn't look away. He knew, with a sudden, unshakeable clarity, that the man sitting next to him was a predator, that there was blood on those strong, callused hands. He wrinkled his nose like he was smelling something unpleasant and set his glass heavily down on the bar. "So, what's it gonna be? You gonna take me home or what?"

Foggy blinked. That was not what he was expecting the guy to say, not at all. Saying yes would be a bad idea. No, it wouldn't be a _bad_ idea; it would be an incredibly terrible, Matt Murdock-dressing-in-red-spandex-level-of-stupid idea. And yet... "My place is just around the corner," Foggy said, voice not entirely steady. Shit, shit, shit, was he really picking up random, dangerous-looking military dudes in dive bars now? Apparently he was. Matt's bad decision making was clearly rubbing off on him. He should probably do something about that.

The man stood and motioned for Foggy to go first. "Alright. Lead the way."

Neither of them spoke on the short walk to Foggy's apartment. Surprisingly, the silence was easy and relaxed, and by the time they reached Foggy's building, he was 75% convinced this guy wasn't a serial killer out to make a suit from his skin. Maybe 80%. (If he was wrong, Foggy decided, Matt would hunt the guy down and exact terrible, masked vengeance, and then cry manfully over Foggy's grave. So it wouldn't be a total loss.) Before he unlocked the front door, though, he stopped. "I swear this isn't a line, but I have to ask--what is a guy like you doing in a place like this?"

The man chuckled, and _wow_ , that gravelly laugh shot straight to Foggy's cock. "Can't a guy just be looking for a good fuck?"

It would be hypocritical of Foggy to say no to that, since he was doing essentially the same thing, but he couldn't quite let it go. "Yeah, but … why me?"

He shrugged. "You're a good looking guy, Blondie, and I thought I had a better shot with you than with Wanda."

Foggy's eyebrows shot up. "Wanda?"

"Bartender," the man said, smiling. "You looked less likely to slug me for asking, anyway."

Foggy couldn't stop his own laugh at that. "Yeah, I can see that. Uh, I'm Foggy, by the way."

"Frank," he replied, shaking the hand Foggy offered then used his grip to pull him in close, threaded his free hand through Foggy's hair and kissed him. His lips were soft as he coaxed Foggy's mouth open, and he tasted like warm whiskey and stale coffee. Frank's stubble scraped against Foggy's chin in a way that wasn't entirely pleasant, but the sensation sent a jolt through his body nonetheless. Maybe it was the lingering effects of the dance club, or the booze, or the fact he hadn't been laid in too long, but he was already half-hard and needy.

Foggy grabbed onto Frank's hips for support, groaning at the feel of strong muscle beneath the thin cotton of his shirt, and pressed even closer. He could feel Frank's cock through his jeans, not fully erect but definitely getting there, which banished the last niggling doubt at the back of Foggy's mind, and he broke the kiss with a gasp. "Upstairs, or we're going to get arrested for public indecency, and Mahoney will never let me live that down," he said, making Frank laugh again. 

Nelson & Murdock could barely pay its own bills, so Foggy's place was a fourth floor walk-up. Normally he was a little winded by the time he made it up all four flights, especially in this heat, but tonight, he was breathing hard for an entirely different reason. They didn't touch much on the walk up, but every time Foggy glanced back to make sure he was following, the banked desire in Frank's eyes made him squirm.

As soon as Foggy shut the door to his apartment, Frank pushed him up against it, attacking his mouth with renewed vigor. Foggy whimpered and pushed Frank's coat off his shoulders, eager to see what was underneath. It hit the floor with a heavy thud, revealing a broad chest and muscled biceps. "Jesus," Foggy gasped. "I'm guessing you work out," he added, cringing even as the words fell from his mouth.

"A little," Frank said, his mouth curling up in a half-smile.

"Just so you know, I do not, in fact, work out," Foggy continued, cursing his alcohol-weakened brain-to-mouth filter. "So, if you were expecting--"

Frank cut him off with a harsh kiss. "You talk too much, Blondie. Where's your bedroom?"

"That has been mentioned before," he said. "And it's down the hall on the right." Foggy swallowed. "I'll meet you there, just gotta go powder my nose."

Frank leaned down and grabbed his coat, and Foggy was distracted from the lovely view of his ass by the shape of a semi-automatic pistol tucked into his waistband at the small of his back. As soon as Frank let himself into the bedroom, Foggy locked himself in his bathroom and stared at his reflection in the mirror. What the hell was he thinking? This was a terrible idea, a terrible idea that was only getting more terrible by the second. He should march in there, tell Frank to take his gun and get out, and lock the door behind him.

Then again, if Frank was planning on using that gun on Foggy, he wouldn't have let him see it so obviously, would he? 

Fears quelled for the moment, Foggy splashed some water on his face and ran his wet fingers through his hair in an attempt tame the humidity-induced waves. Quickly deciding that was futile, he used the toilet, then wet a washcloth in the sink and gave his junk a courtesy wipe.

By the time he got to the bedroom, Frank had stripped down to his boxers and was reclining on the bed, his clothes in a neat but suspiciously lumpy pile. Foggy very pointedly didn't think about what weaponry was probably under them, instead focusing on the broad expanse of skin and muscle they no longer covered. Frank didn't have the meticulously sculpted muscles Foggy associated with douchebags who only worked out to look good; this was a man who used every one of them, and Foggy really, _really_ wanted to touch. "Jesus," he muttered, unbuttoning his own shirt and tossing it over the back of a chair.

Frank smirked a little as Foggy struggled out of the slim-cut pants Marci had insisted he buy during their last shopping trip. "Not all of us can rock the cargo pants and tee shirt look," he said, finally getting down to his boxer briefs and climbing onto the bed. "Some of us would get mistaken for stoner college students."

"Can't imagine why," Frank retorted, running his fingers through Foggy's hair before pulling him in for a kiss.

"It's the baby face," Foggy shot back, kissing his way down Frank's neck. He nipped at the line of his collarbone, making Frank groan. "You like that?"

"Yeah," Frank said, unashamed. "As soon as you came in the bar, I wanted your mouth. Wanted to see what it looked like wrapped around my cock."

Foggy grinned up at him. "Oh yeah? That how you think this is going to go?"

Frank's fingers, still tangled in Foggy's hair, flexed, tugging gently. "You have objections, Blondie? I could be persuaded."

"Nah, I'm kind of interested in what's happening down here," Foggy said, pulling Frank's boxers down to expose his cock. He mumbled a curse at the sight of it, hard and cut and straining up toward his navel. It was about the same length as Foggy's, maybe a little longer, but significantly thicker, with precome already beading up from the slit. "Yeah, very interested," he said to himself.

It had been a while since he'd done this, so Foggy went slow at first, licking the head sloppily and wrapping a hand around the base. Frank cupped the back of his head, but he didn't seem interested in directing the action, which Foggy was grateful for. "Yeah, like that," he groaned when Foggy took him into his mouth, bobbing up and down a couple of times, to get a feel for it. "Yeah, that's real good, so good. You look so good right now, Blondie, just gorgeous," Frank said, voice getting rougher as Foggy continued to blow him. "Yeah, swallow it all down, just like that. God, that's perfect. You feel so good on my cock, baby, so good."

Foggy moaned at the praise, his face hot with mingled pleasure and embarrassment. His own cock was hard as a rock in his boxer briefs, and he didn't dare look up at Frank; he could _feel_ the intensity of his stare, and that was enough to have him riding the edge. Determined to make Frank come before he embarrassed himself, Foggy gripped the base tighter and sped up his strokes until Frank's words started slurring together.

When Frank tugged on his hair, Foggy let himself be pulled off. Swallowing was never his favorite, and it was definitely not happening with a hookup. But instead of letting Foggy finish him off with his hand, Frank released his hold on Foggy's hair in favor of hauling him up by his armpits and flipping them so Foggy lay flat on his back with Frank straddling his thighs. Foggy's brain, already nearly mush, shorted out completely at the casual manhandling. Frank grinned down at him and very deliberately licked the palm of his hand. When Frank wrapped his hand around both of them, Foggy couldn't stop a broken "Oh my _god_ " from escaping. He settled his hands on Frank's thighs, needing something solid to keep himself grounded.

"Yeah?" Frank asked, grin widening.

"Fuck yeah," Foggy said, letting his eyes fall shut. The angle wasn't the best, and Frank's callused hands were rough against his sensitive skin, but Foggy was definitely not complaining. Too soon, he felt his balls tightening as his orgasm started to build. Foggy bit his bottom lip and dug his fingers into the thick muscles of Frank's thighs, trying to ride the edge of pleasure for just another delicious moment. Then Frank did _something_ with his wrist, and Foggy came with a shout.

Frank hunched over him, hand still moving fast and furious. Just as Foggy was about to beg for mercy, his cock too sensitive to touch, Frank grunted and froze, adding his come to the mess on Foggy's soft stomach.

"That was nice," Foggy said, words slurring together a little when Frank rolled off him and on to his back. Frank, looking more relaxed and natural than he had at any point of the evening so far, hummed his agreement.

After a few minutes, Frank got up and started getting dressed. Foggy frowned, annoyed that his afterglow basking had been interrupted. "Leaving already?" he asked, sure his irritation was clear from his voice. 

Frank stilled, his pants halfway up his ass. "You asking me to stay?"

Foggy wasn't, actually, but now he was committed. "I mean, I thought maybe we could go again. In a while," he added, voice wry. "Despite appearances, I'm not actually a college student."

He counted it a win when Frank laughed and turned back around as he buttoned his pants. "Maybe another time," he said, and Foggy decided to interpret his tone as regretful.

Foggy shrugged and looked away, using the edge of the sheet to wipe their come from his stomach. "Yeah, sure." Two blow-offs in one night; Foggy was batting a fucking thousand.

Still shirtless, Frank closed the distance between them in two long steps. He threaded his fingers through Foggy's hair--Foggy was starting to think he had a thing--and kissed him hard. Once Foggy was breathless, Frank pulled back. "Hey, I would stay, but it's better if I don't." He sounded sincere, and Foggy nodded. 

Frank continued to get dressed, and Foggy fished his own underwear off the floor. "Listen, sorry about--"

He cut Foggy off with a quick shake of his head. "You've got nothing to apologize for, Foggy," he said, using his name for the first time. "Listen, be careful out there. Neighborhood's not as safe as it used to be." While Foggy was still trying to form a response, Frank pulled on his coat. "I'll see you around."

Foggy waited until he heard his front door open and shut before getting out of bed to go lock it. He went to the bathroom and wiped the last bits of come off his body, then brushed his teeth. He splashed water on his face, then returned to his bedroom and flopped back on the bed. "Well, I suppose that was a successful evening," he told the ceiling. 

A few weeks later, the morning after The Punisher was arrested, Foggy saw Frank's face--bruised and bloody, but still unmistakable--plastered over every newspaper in the city, and he realized he was so, _so_ fucked.

**Author's Note:**

> Frank is wearing his pistol in a holster similar to [this one](http://aliengearholsters.com/alien-gear-cloak-tuck-iwb-holster-inside-the-waistband.html). He does not have the gun just shoved into his pants; that's a really easy way to lose your gun or accidentally shoot off your own junk.
> 
> Come visit me on [tumblr!](http://shinykari.tumblr.com)


End file.
